


Fantasy

by Sulwen



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Glam Rock RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-22
Updated: 2010-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulwen/pseuds/Sulwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a kinkmeme prompt: <em>Adam fucks Tommy with the hilt of his sword. Jackpot if they're playing Tommy's fantasies.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantasy

“You may as well rest easy, your highness,” Adam says, stalking around the edge of the glade. “Nothing can get past my sword.”

Tommy rolls his eyes and perches on a fallen tree. “As you've said. _Several_ times.”

Adam unsheathes the weapon in question and flourishes it gracefully, raising his eyebrows at Tommy. “You doubt my prowess?”

Tommy stifles a laugh and makes a mental note to tease Adam later about knowing the proper use of words like “prowess.” Then he forces his face back into a haughty sneer, or at least his best approximation of one. “Not a bit – my father only hires the best to protect his firstborn son. I only mean it's not the thought of bandits that makes me restless tonight.”

“Truly?” Adam stalks closer, the silver embroidery on his black tunic shining in the fading light. “What then, pray tell?”

Tommy looks down his nose at Adam and crosses his arms. “Perhaps that I have been _forced_ to spend the last fortnight in the company of a _barbarian_ such as yourself,” he says, the words of a stuck-up noble coming shockingly easy to his lips even though the accent is all wrong.

“Barbarian, am I?” Adam's voice grows low, dangerous, and a shiver goes through Tommy that has nothing to do with the cool night air. He moves with lightning-quick speed, closing the distance between them and hauling Tommy to his feet by the expensive purple cloth at his throat. “I rather thought that's the sort I was protecting you from. The kind of man who would take one look at that pretty face and lose all control...the kind who would rough you up a little, drag you back to his hovel by your hair and have his way with you. But if that's what you think of me...perhaps I should try harder to live up to your standards?”

Adam moves his hand from Tommy's throat to his hair, long and shining and golden, and grips it tight, forcing Tommy to bear his throat. The pain is delicious, a physical reminder of Adam's superior size and strength, and Tommy finds himself gasping at the sensation.

“Not quite so cold as you'd have the world believe, are you, my prince?” Adam murmurs in his ear, and Tommy should protest, should defend himself and his honor...but this is the game they play, the pattern they've fallen into over the last weeks, a strange back-and-forth dance in the darkened forest that neither of them can quite explain later, in the harsh morning light.

Instead, Tommy pushes into Adam, arching his back, holding still as Adam nips at the delicate flesh of his neck and shoulder, licking along his collarbone. He tries as hard as he can to be properly silent, thinks of his father and his country and the throne awaiting him, drawing nearer every day...but Adam's tongue is hot against him, thrillingly illicit, the most blatantly _improper_ thing he's ever done.

He cracks, as he always does, when Adam bites down hard, hard enough to leave a distinctive claiming mark. Adam smirks against his skin at the broken cry, and puts his hands on Tommy's shoulders, shoving him to his knees.

It's completely backwards. Tommy has never knelt for anyone save his father, not once...not until Adam. It still feels strange and wrong, and though Tommy is quite used to looking up at people, this is something else entirely. He learned rather quickly, though, that the way to gain power over Adam was not by flaunting his title, but a rather more subtle art.

He pouts out his lips and bows his head and closes his eyes, pliant and submissive at Adam's feet, and smiles inwardly at the groan such behavior never fails to pull from Adam's throat. Adam's sword is still in his hand, and he grips the blade with one gloved hand and offers the hilt to Tommy, accompanied by only one short command: “Suck.”

And Tommy does, opens his mouth and tongues at the smooth metal. The taste is harsh, the metal cold and unforgiving, but somewhere deep inside, he knows that he would do this forever just to make Adam look like that, eyes blazing, face slack with either shock or arousal or more likely both. And here, _here_ is the power he'd struggled for so long to assert over Adam, Adam who doesn't believe in the idea of royalty appointed by God or the ability to rule being passed through sacred bloodlines.

He ends up flat on his back in the cool grass, Adam above him, big and powerful and overcome with desire. He knows Adam would rather cut away his clothes, the trappings of Tommy's station, but they're on the move, and he doesn't exactly have access to the royal collection. Instead, Adam tears at the clothing with his fingers, throwing it in a pile to wrinkle unbecomingly. Tommy wrinkles his nose at the thought, but then Adam's hands are on his thighs, pressing his legs apart, and his fingers are nudging at Tommy's hole, and wrinkles be damned – nothing has ever been so worth it.

Adam works him until Tommy is thrusting down onto his long, gloved fingers, leather-covered fingertips crooking just right deep within him, and he's babbling, begging for more, desperate for what he knows is coming next. Finally, Adam withdraws, and his fingers are replaced by something that feels huge and cold and unforgiving, something never meant for this purpose – but exactly what Tommy needs.

The hilt slides into him bit by slow bit, inexplicably slick, and Tommy is grateful for the isolation of the wilderness, as he doesn't even attempt to hold back the cries pouring from his lips. It _hurts,_ of course it hurts, stretching him until he thinks he might break, filling up all the empty places within him...but it's also _good,_ just exactly the right amount of too big, too hard, too much.

He forces his eyes open and looks down the length of his body to Adam. The angle's wrong, and he can't see the sword where it enters his body, but he can see Adam's eyes, intense and focused and totally consumed by what he's doing, and that's even better. To see Adam, who's always so in control of himself...to see him on the brink of losing himself like this....

It's more than Tommy can handle, and he reaches out and begs. “Adam, please, fuck me, fuck me _now...”_

The sword disappears, forgotten, and Adam takes its place, thrusting hard and deep, as far as he can go in one swift motion, and their voices break around each other, moans stolen away by the cool evening breeze. Adam is nothing like a weapon, and he doesn't hurt. The fullness is still there, but it's warm and alive, and Tommy fits just right around it....perfect.

Tommy spills over the black leather of Adam's gloved hand as it strokes him, a glorious twisting motion that he's never been able to replicate on his own, and Adam follows him soon after, pulsing deep into Tommy's body, a sensation unlike any other Tommy's felt in all his travels, all his long experience. It's wrong and dirty and sinful, but it feels like the changing of the seasons, the running of sands through an hourglass – natural and ordained and _right._

Adam pulls away and collapses on his back in the grass next to Tommy, and he's laughing already even though he's barely started coming down.

“'Fuck me now, Adam?' Not exactly period dialogue, Tommy!” he teases, trying to catch his breath through the giggles.

Tommy is too boneless and happy and relaxed to care. Much. “Whatever, man,” he says. “It worked, didn't it?”

Adam rolls over and wraps his arms and legs around Tommy's body. “Yeah. It totally did.”

They're silent for a long moment. Then Adam, always curious, asks, “So was it everything you ever dreamed?”

Tommy turns to look into Adam's eyes, and he wonders how he ever got lucky enough to _meet_ someone like Adam, someone crazy and talented and more caring than anyone else in the world, much less become involved in...well...whatever this is.

Then he smiles, because Adam really is a dream come true, and he never wants to wake up.

“And more.”


End file.
